Chapter 1

"Dad do we really have to go today?" asked Richard Flinn, as he brought his green bag down the stairs.

"Son," said his father, "we go to the cottage every summer, why should this year be different?"

"Because, it's good to change traditions and besides, all my friends are here in Toronto. None of them have to drive up to stupid Orchard Park every July."

"The only reason you don't want to go is because you're going to Miss Clarabelle Doorhandler or whatever her name is."

"It's Borhandler," corrected Richard, blushing a little.

"Alright, that. Why people have to have such complicated names, is beyond me. I think it should be illegal for someone to have a surname that most people can't pronounce."

"Only you can't pronounce it and there's nothing special about her, she's just a friend."

"If I said that about your mother, she'd shoot me. Don't think I didn't see you two kiss under that maple tree."

"What are you talking about?"

"Just so happens I was paving the other side of the street at the time."

"Oh s**t."

"Hey, watch your language. Don't make me wash your mouth out with soap."

"No one's done that since the sixty's."

"Well it's good to bring back the old."

"Markus, what are you teaching our son now?" asked Alice Flinn, as she brought out the food bag from the basement.

The Flinn family was heading to Orchard Park for the month of July. Mark was a road worker working in Toronto and had taken a month off to join his family. It just so happened that one time when he was paving a new road, he saw his son kiss a small blonde haired girl under a maple tree across the street. He had decided never to tell Richard, knowing that he was 15 and deserved privacy, but now he had decided to bring up the situation just to annoy him.

As a road worker, Mark did quite well except for the fact that he was always being called to perform different tasks for the city, sometimes without warning. One time he had been called on short notice to come in at 8:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning to help out with putting tar on a road close to Highway 401. His family wasn’t too pleased about that, especially since Alice was trying to take them all go to church to show that they cared about their Christian heritage. Mark was thankful for that interruption though. He had never liked church and had always been forced to attend Sunday school when he was a young child, but Alice wanted to show some discipline so some Sundays the Flinn family visited their local church.

 Every time Mark was there he couldn’t understand a word the priest was saying because he mostly spoke in Greek and even when he didn’t he had such a thick accent that Mark couldn’t even try to understand. The Flinn family went to a Greek Orthodox Church called St. Alexis in the Bloor and Jane area because before Mark had married Alice her last name had been Erasmas which meant friendly and lovely in Greek. Mark had no Greek history since his family’s background was mostly Scottish and English, and since Alice was very strong in keeping her heritage going, she wanted Richard and Mark to attend church sometimes. Unfortunately though, Alice knew more English than she did  Greek so she had never taught her son her mother-tongue when he was little. Nonetheless, Richard still tried to pick up words when Alice spoke to her parents, her papou and yiayia�"which were her grandfather and grandmother�"or her cousins in Greek when they came over.

* * *

 

"Nothing dear," said Mark, as his bright blue eyes turned towards his wife, "just having a lovely conversation with your son. Last I heard, that was still legal in Canada."

Mark loved to joke around whenever he found the time suitable and had always been that way since he could remember.

"He's your son too you know," said Alice, crossing her arms to look more aggressive.

"He is, but as a fifteen-year-old, I think he'd rather not be."

"Mark, how awful," said Alice, shocked.

But she didn't sound too offended.

Mark grinned at Richard. Richard just stared at him.

"Well I don't know what you two were talking about with our son, but I just wanted to say that all our luggage is here and just needs to be put in the car."

"Why Alice, why don't you just sit in the car and let the big strong men do all the work."

"I am not completely helpless, you know."

"No, but after you carry all our luggage, you will be."

"Markus Richard Flinn, I have never been so insulted in my life. If I didn't love you so much, I would beat you."

"With those tiny fists?"

"Oh," said Alice, sounding frustrated as she pretended to strangle Mark.

Mark took her hands off his neck and kissed her passionately. They both smiled.

"You guys are so weird," said Richard, sounding disgusted.

"Why then, Richie, you have never experienced true love before. You should probably call it off with you and Miss Cardhandler, it seems to not be going anywhere", joked Mark.

"Cardhandler?" asked Alice, confused.

"Borhandler, mom," said Richard, rolling his eyes.

"Oh her."

"What do you mean, oh her? You mean to tell me you knew about these two?" asked Mark, insulted.

"Well dear, Rich needed some advice about the opposite sex," explained Alice.

"I would think the first person he'd turn to is his old man. I'm rather insulted he didn't."

"Honey, you're not that old."

"Yeah dad, you're only forty," pointed out Richard.

"Richard, you should know that it's not nice to mention other people's ages when they don't want them to be mentioned," said Alice, glaring at Richard.

"Why Alice, I don't care if Rich knows my age."

"Well I do."

"Why should you? He knows yours."

"He does?" cried Alice, horrified.

She never liked people knowing her age, especially her son. And she had given up on her husband since he would just flaunt his age around as if it were a gold medal.

"He found your birth certificate last week."

"I don't think he found it, Mark. Rich doesn't snoop through other people's personal things. You on the other hand�""

"Are you accusing me of putting it there?"

"Well, it's not like it was laid out on the bed for the entire world to see. But how would I know? I'm not the detective, Mr. Markus Flinn."

"Ex-detective, Alice. I’m a road worker now."

"Once a detective, always a detective."

Mark had once been a detective working for Toronto, but had quit four years ago because of one case which involved the raping of a 12-year-old girl who had then been murdered by her father. Before, he had loved solving cases and helping keep his city safe by catching and arresting criminals. But after that case, he had no idea what other terrible people were waiting for him so he quit and became a road worker instead because he was still helping out the city but in a different way. Mark couldn’t help but miss being a detective, but he still enjoyed fixing roads for the city.

* * *

 

Richard was getting tired of this back-and-forth between his parents so he decided to end it by saying,

"Dad put it there, mom."

"Well Mark, it seems our son is a better detective than you were," stated Alice.

"Well he'd make a great one, wouldn't you son?" said Mark, patting Richard on the back.

"I don't know if I really want to stare at dead bodies all day."

"Rich, I think you've got yourself mixed up. A coroner stares at dead bodies, a detective figures out how those dead bodies got there," explained his father.

"Same thing."

"No, you see�""

"Dear, why don't you go pack the car," interrupted Alice, changing the subject.

"I'd be delighted to, my sweet," said Mark grinning, as he grabbed four bags and headed out the door.

"Don't flatter yourself Mark!" cried Alice, before the screen door slammed shut.

Mark didn't hear her because he was whistling to himself, as he packed the car.

"Sweetheart, why don't you go help your dad. I think I left the lettuce in the fridge," said Alice to Richard.

"Mom, that food bag looks like it's about to explode," said Richard as he pointed to the bulging orange cooler.

"I think it can still fit a head of lettuce."

"Why do you always stuff this bag with food? We're still going to the grocery store at the cottage."

"Rich, when you have a wife and kids, you'll understand."

"It's to save money isn't it?"

"Rich, if you know the answers to your own questions, why do you ask them?"

"I'll go help dad," said Richard, as he grabbed his bag and began heading out the door.

"Just a minute Richard," said Alice, once Richard's right foot was out the door.

Richard turned and nodded, acknowledging her.

"How old am I?"

"Mom, please," said Richard, trying to wiggle his way out of this conversation.

"I'm not joking, Rich," said his mother, sternly.

"Thirty-five," said Richard, cringing as he said it.

Alice started to feel anger rising in her temples, but all she said to Richard was a gentle, "Yes."